


Wanderlust

by paella



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 11:07:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paella/pseuds/paella
Summary: Alistair Fitz is a dragonologist and the descendant of a long line of renowned Magizoologists in the wizarding world. A chance encounter with a dragon would change his life forever...





	Wanderlust

When he had been a young man, Alistair Fitz had been fearless, always ready to prove himself and do what few had either the courage or skill to complete. As the head of one of the oldest houses of the Wizarding World in specializing in Magizoology, it was his duty and privilege to carry on the legacy of his clan, just as his father before him, and his father before him in devoting a lifetime to the study and care of all magical creatures. Growing up amongst the greatest minds in the field of Magizoology, he`d spent countless summers chasing fairies in the fields, digging up squirming Flobberworms by the handful and flipping Mokes on their backs and delighting in the way that the lizard`s limbs flailed helplessly in the air, mesmerized by the light that reflected off the emerald scales on its belly.

When he turned 18, he`d come face to face with a Hungarian Horntail.

Most people would think he was stupid for even thinking about looking at the dragon. Most would have seen the glint in its yellow eyes and known that approaching it was a dance with death. Most would have looked at its claws and seen danger instead of intrigue; they would have seen the iridescent scales and felt the warning, the caution, instead of a pull. Most would have felt the heat of the fire, burning there in the back of its throat, and backed off instead of moving closer.

Most people weren't Alistair Fitz.

His fingers barely touched the red scales when the dragon turned on him, but one touch had been enough. If he hadn't been hooked before on the adrenaline, the danger, the rush, he was most certainly addicted to it now. Life on the edge of the world was glorious, living amongst beasts and men, who were often times more dragon themselves than wizards. He felt powerful when his fingers touched those scales.

Having discovered his passion in dragonology, in no time, he`d ascended the ranks of the Magizoology department at the Ministry of Magic and been appointed as its leader. At hogwarts, he had graduated the youngest in his class and was well regarded by the brightest of minds in the field of expertise of magical creatures.

On that morning in the deep forests of Scottish Highlands, he and his team of Dragonologists appointed by the Ministry Of Magic had tracked a Hebridean Black for over ten miles, a great beast with wings as dark as night. This creature had been sighted by a local Squib in the sleepy town of Perthshire in the early hours of the morning, having been awoken by the sound of terrified bleatings of the herd. The beast had managed to grab two of his flock and took flight towards the woodlands. This particular one had proven to be rather intelligent for its kind, being able to estimate the particular direction which his team would be heading and taking flight at the nearest opportune moment at the sound of footsteps. The others had given up hours ago, having fallen back with mutters of frustration and pointed remarks as to how the dragon was not worth the effort.

But he had kept on, sloughing through the elements in the place where he had spent most of his childhood in, the forest was, for a lack of better terms, his home. He tracked through areas with familiar streams and rocky terrains, eyes narrowed to the ground, looking for any signs which could point to the elusive beast.

It wasn`t until the late evening had his persistence paid off, and he stood in a forested clearing, the great onyx coloured beast peering down at him from a giant rock face, It was at that moment of peril that he`d realized that he was so intent on seeking out the creature, he`d forgotten the dangers that came with facing the beast.

His fingers had barely curled around the base of his wand when the beast leapt from above to pin him to the ground with a startled yelp. His wand was knocked from his hands, the impact had knocked his only weapon a distance away by the grass. He`d shut his eyes, feeling the cold hard terrain on his back and braced for the inevitable scorch of dragon fire melting his face off or the feeling of dragon fangs closing around his neck.

 

It was a little while longer when he`d realize that none of those scenarios had played out.

I`m not dead.

He could feel the warm breath of the dragon billowing on his face, and he slowly opened his eyes. He was not expecting for the dragon`s claws to reach for its neck, for dark scales to part, and for the dragon`s skin to peel off like it was nothing more than a cloth costume.

All to reveal the most beautiful woman that Alistair had ever seen.

She says her name is Linda, and everyday Alistair goes to visit her. Ten miles through the woods, thicket and cliff-face. Every day, regardless of wind, rain, or snowy blizzard, just for the chance to talk and laugh with her.

His persistence pays off. They dance and sing at their wedding with his family and friends who are now senior Dragonologists and wizardry professors at well-renowned wizardry schools around the world. They`d joked that they were surprised that he would be the first one among his pals to marry, seeing as he`d rarely dated let alone even attempted to court any of the attractive blue eyed and blonde haired herbologists that had walked through the halls of the department. His childhood companion Radcliffe, teased that it seemed certain that he would be married to his work.

At that, Alistair felt a flush creeping up to his face and downs the remaining wine in the glass.

\----------

Their first child is born in the dark night. For all of Alistair`s talents and bravery, he is told by the midwife that everything is in good hands before being shoved through the doorway to the hallways of the mansion. As the hours go by, he has nothing to do but to listen to his wife`s cries and pray that it will all end soon.

Suddenly he hears the screams of the midwife, shrieking and crying that the Master's wife has given birth to a dragon.

He wastes no time, and bursts into the room. To his stunned shock, he sees Linda cuddling a tiny black dragon to her chest. But it is her lack of panic or alarm that bleeds away his worry. She looks at him, smiling with exhaustion and triumph, and without a word, she reaches under the little dragon's chin.

Black scales peel away, and soon Linda is holding a black dragon-skin in one hand and a wailing human baby in the other. Their son.

They name him Leopold, and when the rest of the household arrives in response to the mid-wife's cries, any rumors die in the bud at the sight of the new Master's new, very human child.

Alistair in turn takes that little black dragon-skin, and locks it in an oak trunk at the foot of his bed, where no curious household servants will ever find it.

\--------

Alistair has never doubted that Linda loves him and would not even consider the idea that she does not adore Leopold. But no matter how much she likes living in the Fitz’ mansion, no matter how much she loves her husband and son, the wanderlust still tugs at her.

He's seen enough to understand the pull it has on her. When she had been confined to bed in order to recover from giving birth under the insistence of Miss Daisy, her personal maid, she had become restless within a day. She became short tempered and irritable, despising anything that was "the same," right down to the view of the gardens from her window. He`d begged her to rest for 3 days with the promise a trip to the village on the third day as a reward for her patience. By the second day she had finally had enough and had broken her way out through the sash windows (ignoring the fact that the doors were unlocked and unbarred) and had taken Leo for a walk through the village nearby. When Alistair had asked her, she claimed that if she had been forced to spend another hour in the room, she would have gone crazy.

Because of that, Alistair understands when she starts taking her dragon-skin and going for short expeditions. Just short ones, an hour at the most.

Except soon these expeditions start taking two hours, then three. Before Alistair knows it, she's returning home at the late hours of the night to embrace him warmly and fuss over Leo with the same affection she always has.

He knows what is happening, how strong the wanderlust is pulling at her, and he fears the day the pull of her dragon blood is strong enough to make her forget everything she has here. There are times, when he awakes in the morning to find the bed empty and a note saying only that his wife has gone for a flight, that he briefly considers taking her dragon-skin and hiding it along with Leo's somewhere in the Scottish Highlands where not even the gods themselves could ferret it out. But those moments are brief, and never seriously considered. As much as he fears losing her, he loves his wife too much to deprive her of that part of herself. He knows deep in his heart that she could never stand to be tied down, even to a husband and son she loves dearly.

Soon days are turning into weeks, weeks into months, until one day she doesn't return at all.

Months turn into years, with no sign of his wife being sighted anywhere in the country.

\-------

Twenty years have past, and Alistair is no longer a young man. Grey now streaks his beard, and even now he finds things wearing him down which he used to be able to do with ease.

Leopold has grown up to be a fine son, excelling in all manner of academics and splendid moral character and Alistair is proud of him. He seems taken by the field of muggle study he calls “engineering”. Admittedly, he was slightly disappointed at his son`s chosen interest, he was hoping that a part of him would be enamored with Magizoology just as him and his ancestors were. He may not be the son that Alistair was expecting or hoping for, but Alistair will readily admit that that is not necessarily a bad thing. He will be a fine head of the clan. Maybe not the most traditional of them like his forefathers were, but definitely a good one. He's even betrothed to Jemma Simmons, one of the best and brightest potion master and herbologists of her age.

But he has the wanderlust.

By the time he was fifteen, Leopold had traveled to every corner of Scotland and England Two whole decades have not weakened it in the least, and if anything it has only gotten stronger. Only Jemma's occasional reprimands have been all that have stopped him from trying to head to the distant lands of Asia. Once Alistair had even woken up in the middle of the night to discover Leopold packing a travel bag, and spouting out a plan to hire a ship to go find his mother.

The black dragon-skin still sits in the oak chest at the foot of Alistair's bed. It has grown as Leopold has, and instead of the skin of a hatchling it is now the hide of a fully grown Hebridean Black. Alistair dreads the thought of what would happen if Leopold ever finds that skin. There are times when he wishes he had taken that chest and dumped it in the harbor. But that dragon-skin is still a part of his son, and as much as Alistair fears what it could lead to, he has never once made to get rid of it. Besides, Leopold is anything if not clever, and there is no guarantee that Leopold would not be able to retrieve it, even if Alistair did drop the entire chest into the sea.

He knows Leopold loves him, he knows his son loves Jemma with all his heart, he knows his son cares deeply for the future of his family and wants only the best for it. But he also knows it is not enough. Not when compared to the wanderlust and dragon blood thrumming through his being.

And one day it happens. On that day the entire town is thrown into a panic as a black dragon dances across the sky above the village. It swoops and darts everywhere, performing increasingly impressive acrobatics before flying off towards the eastern horizon, vanishing into the rising sun before anyone can even think to man the defenses. Then someone in the Fitz Manor notices that no one has seen Leopold all morning.

Alistair is standing by his bed when the search parties return, all of them bearing news that they had been unable to find his son no matter how hard they searched.

Leopold is gone, and so is the black Hebridean dragon-skin in the oak chest.

\---

Eight months later, Alistair hears news, accompanied by hysterical screams and astonished yells from the housemaid Miss Daisy bursting into the drawing room, that Jemma Simmons has just given birth to a dragon. He wastes no time. Without hesitation he is galloping down the hill on one of the stable horses and pushing his way through the crowd that had gathered outside the Simmons' house. He pushes through the door without a word and strides into their home without excuse.

Inside he finds chaos. Jemma's parents are engaged in furious yelling match, with her brother's trying desperately to calm them down, the midwife is sitting on a bench furiously muttering spells, and in the center of it all is Jemma.  
She has a little black dragon clutched to her chest, and is looking around with a look of confusion, shock and fear. Alistair finds he can't blame her for that. Unlike Linda, she had no expectations of her child being anything but human.

Wordlessly he steps towards Jemma, and holds out his arms as if to receive the child. Jemma numbly passes the little dragon over to him, the look on her face saying plainly she has no clue what is going on and she just wants it all to be over.

Everyone goes silent, watching with dreaded anticipation as Alistair holds the little black dragon in his arms. He slips his fingers under the little dragon's chin.

Black scales peel away to reveal a little baby girl with eyes as blue as sapphire and the black dragon skin Alistair now holds in his hands. A little girl that can only be his granddaughter.

Jemma takes her daughter back with an air of stunned astonishment. The entire crowd of onlookers has gone silent at what they have just witnessed. Even Jemma's parents have stopped their arguing to gape at the apparent miracle that Alistair Fitz has performed.

Alistair looks down at Jemma as she starts to nurse her new daughter, and as if sensing his gaze Jemma raises her eyes to meet his. An understanding passes between them.

"He'll be back," is all Alistair says, "and he'll have his mother with him."

It's all they have to hope for.


End file.
